Chapter One

 

The stone wall towered over Kirrin’s head, rising up twenty feet. It cast a long shadow in the gloom, imposing and a little menacing. Maybe to other people. It was as if the wall was daring him to try his skills against its heights.  

He ran his fingers along with the stones, large cut blocks with thin strips of mortar between each stone. He wrapped his fingers over the edge, testing it. Just enough for a finger hold. Barely.

He smiled to himself, satisfied. He felt a surge of energy as his body tensed in anticipation, looking forward to the challenge.

Then he looked around to make sure no one was around. The city felt different at night, all shades of dim blues and greys, with streaks of dim moonlight spilling down between buildings.  Off in the distance, he could hear the din of pubs and taverns but there was none of the noisy fanfare that came from the bustling crowds that packed the market square during the day.  He preferred the night, when the heat of the day had passed and he could move about in the shadows unhindered.

The streets were mostly empty, a small group of people walked by, arguing about something and laughing at each other. Not much younger than himself, he realized. Most likely students, elites of the region from the look and sound of them.  But they students sauntered by, sounding drunk and heading towards the North Terrace. 

Kirrin turned around, facing a lemon tree, pretending to take a piss and they passed, ignoring him. He thought he recognized one of the voices but he shrugged it off. He was just a random stranger that they would forget about immediately. The way he preferred it. Being anonymous and easily forgotten was what made him perfect for the work he did. 

But this was just a nuisance errand he had been sent on. Kirrin had expected to be in the South by now, on another, longer assignment. While he had been preparing to leave, he had received a summons. 

The so’har requested his presence.  In his mind he thought of the man as Hak’kar, but his title was So’har Hak’kar of House Charam, one of the most powerful ruling houses in the region. Kirrin’s overlord. It had been an unusual set of circumstances that put Kirrin on Hak’kar’s doorstep.

You were caught trespassing and stealing from a powerful ruler.

And he’d been punished for it. Using his wits and determination, he’d turned that punishment into an opportunity. Somehow he’d turned into the hands that did the man’s dirty work. 

Until you botched your last mission. 

The so’har wasn’t a man who tolerated failure. So, Kirrin was making every effort to get back into good standing. 

Expecting an audience and another berating, his meeting had been with the steward. With the man’s usual disdain, the steward had informed Kirrin of this small task.

Kirrin, knowing he was out of favor, had bowed humbly. 

As the so’har wishes.

So here he was, staring at the wall that stood between himself and redemption.

Glancing up, he saw the Nibbin just past the midpoint, skittering past the twin moons on its hasty trip toward the eastern horizon. Around midnight. That should give him plenty of time.

He took a minute to run through his mental checklist and then began to scale the wall, searching for stones where he had the best finger holds. He felt his muscles working and reveled in the challenge as he inched upward towards the top.

Once he was there, he scurried along the top of the wall to the corner tower and ducked into the deep shadow. He turned around, leaning against the cool stone while he caught his breath and rolled his shoulders to loosen up his muscles.

From his vantage point, he scanned the inner courtyard of the High Magistar’s official compound. The area was mostly open, cobblestones shone dully in the moonlight, and a fountain in the center. The outer edges were lined with statues and some flowering bushes.

The walled courtyard was shaped like a T, smaller buildings on either end and wide steps leading up to the main building along the top. Kirrin’s goal was the restricted level of the opposite tower, on the top floor. That was the chancellor’s study, where he kept his personal records and paperwork.

Once he caught his breath, he tackled the next part of his assignment, hoisting himself up onto a narrow ledge, disturbing a handful of roosting pigeons, causing a momentary flap of wings and squawking as they relocated further down the ledge. The birds protested as he inched closer to where they regrouped, but they largely ignored him as he waded through them.

On the far side of the building, he dropped back down to the wall, then ran along the top, towards the main building. He waited in the dark until he heard the night watch making their rounds. Two men walked the perimeter, muttering back and forth. They sounded bored.

Once they had finished their patrol and returned to their post, he scaled up a drainpipe to the roof, flipping himself up over the edge with ease. During the day, the clay tiles would be hot, and they still held traces of the day’s warmth, as Kirrin ran up towards the peak and over to the other side.

The far edge of the main building was the closest point to the northwest tower. That tower was smooth stone and he would be unable to scale it the way he had gotten inside the compound. Glancing up to the windows, he guessed it was another twenty feet. The total distance was further than he wanted to fall. He wouldn’t have wanted to scale the tower freehanded, even if he could. 

Having scouted the compound several times, he was fairly certain that he could get a rope up from where he stood, and then drop down to the wall below. From there, it would be an easy climb to the balcony above.

He pulled his pack off and reached inside, pulling out two coils of rope and a U-shaped hook. Even though he had sorted through his equipment before he’d left, he insisted on uncoiling the larger rope to make sure it had no twists in it. Then he knotted one end into the grapple hook and made a second knot at the other end. Satisfied with that, he looped the smaller rope over the hook and secured it, the retrieval line.

Stepping on the knot, he hoisted the grapple and began to swing it, slow loops, feeding out a bit more rope as he assessed the distance and judged the angle. As he did, he recalled the countless tosses he had made practicing. Again and again, and searching out harder and harder targets, until he had blisters on his hands.

That hard work paid off, and he heard the hook hit the stone railing. He tugged at the rope. He felt a slight tension on the rope—and then nothing. Instinct kicked in and he reeled the rope in as fast as he could. A moment later, he heard the sound of the grapple hook scraping against the wall, banging against the stones as it fell then crashed against the lower wall when the rope ran out. It wasn’t nearly as loud as it could have been but he still cringed and sprawled flat on the roof. How loud was it? To his ears, it was deafening. He tried to estimate the guards’ posts at the entry gates. A moment later he heard the sound of footsteps. 

He lifted his head enough to peek over the edge of the roof. One of the guards stood in the center of the courtyard. He walked a few feet in each direction, scanning the area. Finding nothing, he seemed satisfied and turned back to the guard post. 

Kirrin forced himself to count to a hundred, slowly, before he rose up to a crouch and sorted out his ropes and tossed the grapple across the open space towards the upper railing. He heard the soft snick as it grazed the railing but this time when he tugged on the rope it held firm. He sighed, relieved, and exhilarated. Standing there on a high roof, overlooking the city, he felt excited. He loved the challenge and prowling through the night. This latest assignment was exciting.

Retrieve the high chancellor’s ledger.

Kirrin didn’t know why and hadn’t asked. 

After his previous mission had gone disastrously wrong, he had one main goal. 

Prove your worth to the man who should have killed you.

He swung down from the roof, landing on the stone wall with the tiniest thud, then dashed over to the tower and picked up the rope. A quick tug to assure the hook was firm and then he hoisted himself up, hand over hand with his feet walking up the side of the tower, being careful not to accidentally pull the retrieval line.

At the top, he flipped over the railing, landing on the small balcony. He paused, taking a moment to turn around and enjoy the view. The city sprawled out below. It was mostly rooftops and shadows, peppered with the soft glow of lit windows and street lamps. During the day it must be stunning. One of the perks of power and rank. 

Inside, he made quick work of picking the lock to the chancellor’s office and rifling through his drawers until he found a stack of ledgers. It didn’t take him long to pick out the ledger he was sent to retrieve. It was from six months earlier but Kirrin wasn’t going to ask questions about his mission. 

Looking down at the thick tome, Kirrin wondered about it for a moment. What would Hak’kar want with the city’s accounts? He decided he didn’t want to know. If the so’har had a legitimate purpose, he would do it during the daylight through official channels. No, it was far more likely that there was information buried in the pages that he wanted to use for his own nefarious purposes.

He tucked the book into his pack, slung it over his shoulders, and headed back out. The trip down was faster than the climb up and, once back on the wall, he pulled on the retrieval cord, releasing the grapple hook, careful to pull it directly towards him. Even still, he almost missed the hunk of metal as it came tumbling down. He dove, snatching it just before it passed by, and went into a somersault along the top of the wall as he recovered himself. His shoulder hit hard and he knew he would have a solid bruise. If that was the worst part of his assignment, it was a tiny price to pay if it would earn him the so’har’s forgiveness.

Getting back out of the compound was easy, and he strolled through the streets feeling a rush. Would he get an audience when he returned the book? Would this put him back in good standing? He had no idea how angry the so’har was. 

The man was nowhere near as easy to read as his mother. 

His mother. That was another problem all of its own. Another person in his life who was less than pleased with him. Furious. He knew exactly how angry she was.  Didn’t even need to ask.  Despite her initial enthusiasm for Kirrin’s future working for the so’har, that support had changed into resentment and resistance. 

Granted, her suspicions had been well-founded and Kirrin had gone from paying off a mistake to playing Hak’kar’s personal burglar. Now, his mother was paying the price of Kirrin’s mistakes. She was a hostage assuring Kirrin’s continued loyalty and service. Granted, she was housed in a very comfortable cottage outside the city. But she had been forced to give up her position and her home to live in a place where Hak’kar’s people could watch her. Kirrin hadn’t seen her since she’d been forced to move.  The longer he put it off, the worse it would be.

Adjusting the pack on his shoulder, he knew he had to deliver the book. Did he have time to make a quick side trip to check on his mother? Hoping to smooth things over with his mother, he decided to risk a quick visit. 

Chapter Two

 

The next morning Kirrin borrowed a horse and saddled up for the ride, leaving before the heat of the day settled in. The horse had an easy gait and Kirrin enjoyed the ride, until he drew closer to his destination and his apprehension grew. All the possible scenarios ran through his head. None of them went smoothly. There was a time he could have gotten her to come around.  This was not going to be one of those times.

Kirrin drew the dun-colored horse to a halt at the top of a slope and looked down on Millbrook. Quaint. Relaxing, he tucked his knife into the bottom of his saddlebag. The roads were generally safe, but he still felt better knowing he had the weapon nearby, even if he really didn’t know how to use it.

The village was picturesque, with white stone buildings peeking up through the trees. Kirrin nudged the horse onward, bypassing the main road to the hamlet and turning off onto a small lane easily overlooked if one was not expecting to find it there.

A half dozen houses and small farms clustered together partway down the lane but it was easy to spot the one where his mother currently lived. The little cottage was set into the side of the hill, surrounded by more trees and less stone than their old home in Tatak Rhe. The grounds and gardens were thick and overgrown with weeds, but he could see signs of fresh tending. Smoke curled into the sky from a solid chimney with fresh stonework.

Good. Hopefully, there’s a large oven for baking. But Kirrin knew a fancy kitchen wasn’t going to be enough to improve his mother’s mood. She’d been ripped away from her home without any warning. The so’har’s decision. 

The horse snorted, shying sideways and swishing its tail, trying to dislodge a fly. The bugs were a constant nuisance, despite the lemongrass and citron oils the owner had rubbed the beast down with. Kirrin rubbed its neck, reassuring the borrowed mount.

The horse settled, Kirrin turned his attention back to the cottage. It was charming, with curved arches and pillars along the porch and remnants of ivy clinging to the light grey stones. It looked like the kind of place lovers might choose for a secret tryst, or newly married couples might enjoy. It might even be the kind of place his mother had grown up in. Kirrin actually knew very little about her previous life. She didn’t talk about it much, and it had always been just the two of them. 

Kirrin knew his mother doted on him, despite having given her countless reasons to turn her back on him. Was this be the final, ultimate unforgivable deed? The thing that pushed her into disowning him, as anyone else surely would have done by now? He imagined her complete isolation hadn’t improved her mood much. But if there was to be any hope of reconciliation between them, he couldn’t put it off, no matter how afraid he was to face her.

I should have brought something. A gift. Perhaps the spiced chocolates they were both so fond of. But again, he knew nothing was going to make this a pleasant visit.

After loosening the girth and throwing the horse’s reins over the railing, Kirrin headed up the steps to the cottage. His mother must have seen him coming, as she stepped out the front door before he could even get close. Her dark red hair was tied back in a loose braid and she wore grey skirts and a dark blue shirt. Solid clothes that were well made but not the kind of outfit she would wear at the inn unless she was cleaning.

Kirrin stopped about ten feet away, trying to assess the situation. The expression on her face was a mixture of relief, anger, and confusion. Looking at her, Kirrin thought his heart would break. He had done this. His acts. His refusal to listen until it was too late.

After a short stretch of uncomfortable silence, she spoke. “I’m glad you are safe.”

“Mum…” Kirrin spoke softly. He didn’t know what to say to make it right. Everything in his life had been going so well. He liked what he was doing with his work for Hak’kar and his training. Even now, he had no regrets, except for his mother’s disapproval.

He walked up to her and wrapped his arms around her, hugging her tightly. He knew it wasn’t enough to fix the situation, but he wanted her close to him, wanted to feel the protection of her arms as he had when he was a child, even if only for just for a moment.

He was taller than she was now. That still surprised him, remembering when his head tucked neatly under her chin. Almost reluctantly, her arms wrapped around him and they stood there for a moment, saying everything with their silence that words couldn’t convey.

After a moment, she pulled away, holding him at arm’s length, peering at him closely. He looked back, seeing the anger and resentment brewing in her eyes, but for the moment it was pushed aside. There would be a reckoning, he had no doubt, but he was in no hurry to rush it.

“Do you need help with anything?” he asked.

The question was met with a half-shrug and a deep sigh. Knowing his mother, her sense of organization would be kicking in. “There are boxes in the kitchen still that need unpacking. There is new cookware and knives and it appears a new oven was installed quickly.”

Kirrin nodded. “Tell me what you want me to do.” Looking around for places he might be the most useful, he noticed several unopened boxes stacked in the hallway. “Where do you want this box?”

“Is that the box of pictures and little statues?”

“Let me check,” he called out, walking over to the pile. He peeled the corner open enough to get a look inside. The first one was papers, but he saw wooden and brass frames in the second. “I think so, yea.”

“You can put that upstairs in the spare room. I’m using that for storage.”

Kirrin thumped up the stairs. The first room was a large bedroom, with a brass bed tucked under the eaves of a sloping roof. A little down the short hall was another door, half-open. The room was smaller, and bare, except for a few scattered boxes. He put the box down without looking through the contents again and headed back downstairs.

Refraining from comments about her room, he looked out the window. “Would you like me to finish clearing the heavy limbs from the front?”

Tattia paused, tucking a stray hair behind her ear and nodding. “That would be good, yes.” Her words sounded stiff, flat.

By the time Kirrin came back in, most of the heavy brush had been cleared from the front, and he had taken a look around the back, where someone had kept a vegetable garden in the past. He also spotted several familiar herbs that needed tending. Back in the house, Tattia had a pitcher of cold tea out on the table.

“I got most of the heavy things. Looks like there are some nice herbs out back and raised beds from vegetable gardens. They should be fenced though.”

“Yes, I saw.” Again, that same flat tone. “Who would have thought working for the so’har would come with such benefits.”

“I think he was trying to be generous by making sure you were provided for.”

“I was providing for myself just fine, thank you!” There, there it was, finally. The bitter anger coming out at last. “If he were trying to be kind and generous, he might have asked! I would have said no, thank you!”

“He is a so’har. Asking what you might want doesn’t occur to him. He is accustomed to making decisions, sometimes on a whim, and assumes others will see his point of view, his reasoning, and agree with it.”

Kirrin remembered conversations he had had with So’har Hak’kar of House Charam, years before, about the nature of true power. This, right here, was one illustration of the truth in Hak’kar’s argument. With the wave of his hand, Hak’kar had, ever so politely, forced his mother to leave her home and her job as manager of a prestigious inn. The forced retirement had also meant leaving the owner of the inn, Perrin.

As far back as Kirrin could remember, there had been something going on between the two of them, almost like a family. Perrin’s sons, Finn and Chad, thought of Tattia like their mother, and Perrin had tried to be a father to Kirrin. Now that was ruined and it was all Kirrin’s fault. While neither one of them would say it, they both knew the truth.

Tattia sighed as she moved to the nearest counter and started cutting some fresh chicken. Each short, brisk chop came down with more force than was needed.

Kirrin moved a half-empty box from the nearest seat, pulling it closer to the simple, round wooden table in the kitchen. Putting down the knife, Tattia walked around the prep table and pulled out the chair across from Kirrin.

“Tell me.”

He had been prepared for arguments and recriminations. Not those two simple-sounding words that demanded so much. “What do you want to know?”

“Tell me what happened that has come to this?” she said, waving a hand to indicate the cottage. “He pushed me into this situation. What’s happened? What’s changed?” Kirrin heard the bitter edge she placed on ‘he’ and there was no doubt who she was meant. 

Staring down at his hands, Kirrin tried to come up with an answer to that question. Some convincing lie to offer his mother, because the truth was the last thing he was going to use. He picked at a tiny nick in the wooden table, remembering how close the two of them used to be. He had always told her everything. Now he was forced to keep so many secrets they left a knot in his stomach. 

Part of him would always be her son. The other part of him was Hak’kar’s man, doing whatever the so’har bid him. He still hadn’t come up with a way to balance his two lives. How could he be her devoted and honest son, when he was a thief, spy, and murderer?

“Well, I guess I’ve just shown him how valuable I am to him. The years of training and schooling have paid off.”

“But what do you do for him?”

“I do all kinds of things. And some of the work he wants me to do now may require some travel. When he saw that I was concerned about you, he wanted to make sure I wouldn’t have to worry-”

“Stop.” A single word but he knew the tone. The blade smacked into the table sharply. “Enough. Just talk to me. Tell me the truth. I am trying to understand, to be reasonable. So please stop with the lies.”

Kirin sighed, waiting to see if she would continue. He knew her, knew she was putting her thoughts together.

“Do you hurt people?”

The question caught him off guard he paused, trying to think of something to say. Before he could come up with an answer, she asked another question.

“Are you doing anything that is illegal? Things that could get you in trouble?”

Images of the da’har’s limp body flashed in his mind, followed by Aldon’s blood seeping across a jail room floor.

She didn’t want to know these things about her son. She thought she wanted simple yes or no answers. But he knew better.

What she wants is to be reassured.

“Mostly? Research and running messages for him. But I do whatever it is that he asks of me. And that changes from week to week. I never know in advance. Last week I was in the archives, doing research. Right now? He wants to send me to the South, to gather information about the border skirmishes. He does care about such things. I probably shouldn’t be telling you this, but I don’t want you to worry. He demands absolute loyalty. Absolute. He can be generous, but…” Kirrin wasn’t sure how to finish that without sounding bad. “I don’t understand how he thinks. I do know that it is unwise to distress him. We can’t refuse what he sees as generosity.” Kirrin nodded towards the front of the cottage as he spoke.

His mother sighed. “I don’t like it. I don’t like how much it has changed you and not for the better. It sounds like the man is dangerous.”

“He is, Mum. Don’t forget it. That’s the real trap. He is a so’har. He can do almost anything, without question. Absolute power.”

Kirrin knew he was telling partial truths and sidestepping the facts. He was pretty sure he could manage Hak’kar, but he wasn’t going to tell her that. Be more useful to him alive than dead. He hadn’t lied. What he had told her was true. It just wasn’t the whole truth. The point was to give his mother peace of mind.

It was enough, for the moment. At least the questions stopped. Every so often, as they unpacked and he helped her to get settled, small frowns would cross her face, little bubbles of doubt trickling up from some vast reservoir buried deep below the surface. She would open her mouth as if to ask another question, close it again and shake her head.

And so they passed the rest of the day in what could have been mistaken for an easy silence. Kirrin moved furniture and cleared the yard, while his mother arranged things inside and began to lay out a small garden.

Kirrin noticed that his mother had not set foot in the bedroom, her clothes and personal things still in boxes stacked in one corner. But the rest of the house she had arranged to her liking, even hanging the pictures and little statues to decorate the kitchen. At times she looked almost happy. Near evening they sat down to tea. Tattia sighed quietly and looked out the window at the moons over Tatak Rhe.

“I miss everything about the inn,” she said, sounding wistful and resentful. “The cooking and management, my own room. I miss my bed.”

Kirrin knew his mother well enough to just let her talk. He nodded.

“I miss the neighbors, my friends.” She glanced around at the few houses in sight. “Here, there is no one. No one I know. And I’ve seen three Beddo wagons pass down the road already.”

“They’re probably just passing through. You shouldn’t have any trouble with them. And, you’ll make new friends here. And now that you have so much free time, it will be easier.” 

That turned out to be the wrong thing to say. He watched as her shoulders tensed, her back stiffened.

“There was nothing wrong with my old friends. And,” she continued, glancing sideways at one house in particular, “the neighbors are a little too curious for my liking. I feel like they have been watching everything I do.” She shook her head and frowned. “I need to plant more bushes.”

Kirrin glanced over but didn’t notice anyone. More likely than not, someone was keeping an eye on her and reporting anything suspicious back to Hak’kar. Maybe he should go and have a word with them, a quiet word. In the middle of the night. Kirrin was sure they could come to an understanding.

“Once you’ve settled in, you’ll have so much free time. You can go into the city to visit whenever you want. It isn’t that far away.”

That seemed to improve her mood.

“We can get you a cart and a pony to drive if you like.”

She looked thoughtful, hearing that, as though her new home might not be a prison after all. She stared down at her hands for a while, twirling a loose thread on her sleeve. Then she straightened her skirt, reached for her tea, and stared at that for a while.

“Oh, I forgot. There is a letter for you, from the so’har,” she said, idly twirling the spoon in her teacup. Her tone was still flat, but there was considerably less edge to her words.

“I’m sure he just wants to make sure you have everything you need. I’ll see what it says.”

“It’s on the desk by the entry.”

Kirrin nodded and pushed his chair back. As he walked to the front of the cottage, his steps echoed dully, reminding him just how empty the space was. That part must be torture for his mother. For all the times she might have grumbled about never getting a moment of peace at the inn, he knew this was not what she intended.

He recognized the light green envelope immediately as Hak’kar’s.

 

I trust everything is to your mother’s liking and that all of her belongings arrived without damage and were unpacked for her. We would not want her to feel any inconveniences arising from her new residence. We had a new oven built to assure she had every amenity at her disposal. There is a messenger station housed on the far side of the village next to the chandler’s shop.

Your belongings have been taken care of. They have been moved to a small cottage on the north terrace. Fourth terrace, 23, north. This location should adequately meet your own needs and requirements, therefore enabling you to tend to the discussed matters without impediments.

 

Reading between the lines, Kirrin knew Hak’kar expected him back at the estate promptly. Tending to matters, in the so’har’s mind, probably meant going to the new house, picking up the key, and any gear he needed, only to turn right around and race out to the estate. As keen a mind as the man had, there were times when he had the impatience of a child.

Folding the letter up, Kirrin tucked it into his pocket and returned to the kitchen. His mother was fussing with some of the cook pots, rearranging them. How much cooking would she do though, just for herself? She was used to cooking for several dozen people every day. Maybe that was the problem. She had always been a hard worker, earning her place at the inn all those years ago.

From a scullery maid to kitchen girl, before long she had reached the mastery level of being able to cook and serve for the elite of Tatak Rhe. Her years of hard work helped her Inn to have a respectable reputation with an exquisite dining menu. Now she would just be cooking for herself. Looking after herself. He prayed she would find some project to invest her energy in.

“Do you need anything else?”

From the resigned look on her face, he knew she wasn’t happy but wasn’t going to argue about it. There would be an outburst at some point. He knew his mother’s temper and this time it was entirely justified. Likely, she was still in a bit of shock, but anger would follow, probably more than once, as she was rarely content to drop things easily.

“I’ll need to be getting back, soon,” Kirrin said. “The horse is borrowed and I promised my friend to return it before the day is out. I wish I could stay a bit longer with you, Mum, to be sure you were at least comfortably settled in.” He was quick to add that bit, lest she assume the horse was one more favor granted from the so’har.

“And I’ll need to get back to the estate, as I have work still waiting on me in the city, unfortunately. Hopefully, you can understand that, Mum?” asked Kirrin, hoping his mother wouldn’t ask any more questions.

“So. You’re going to keep working for a man whose favors and whims can change like the breeze? What will happen if you no longer please him? Do you even think about the consequences of your actions?”

Continue to be useful to him.

As Tattia started talking her voice rose, the pitch higher, her pent-up emotions directed at Kirrin and the so’har. Underneath that though, Kirrin could hear her fear.

“It’s okay, Mum. I understand the so’har.”

“About as well as you understand a wolf, until the day it’s hungry. Then you will wonder why it decided to eat you, and then you will have wished you had stayed far, far away from that particular wolf.”

Now it was his turn to become defensive, straightening his shoulders and clenching his jaw. “I like my job. It’s good work. Please. I’m sorry you don’t appreciate his generosity.”

“That generosity is a trap. It’s poison.”

Ignoring the statement, Kirrin hugged his mother and kissed her on the cheek. “I’ll come back and help with the furniture. And I can get a fence up around that garden.”

“Don’t bother,” she said. “I can just as easily hire someone to do it.”

He sighed, wishing she would choose to see the benefits of his job. “I love you,” he said and turned to leave the house.

Out in the yard, he stopped, noticing the neighbor out of the corner of his eye. The man busied himself in a flower bed, but Kirrin could tell the man had his attention on his mother’s cottage. Normal nosy?

Having collected himself, Kirrin tightened his horse’s girth and clucked at it, turning its head to walk it back onto the lane before mounting for the ride back to the city. The sun was sinking below the horizon, and the surrounding sky shifted from a pale blue into fiery reds and deep orange. As he rode, he mulled over the situation with his mother. It could have been worse. She would come around. She just needed time. He tried to relax, and enjoy the evening breeze. The closer he came to the city, the more his thoughts shifted back to Hak’kar. Would this successful mission prove his worth?

Chapter Three

It was full dark when he crossed back over the north bridge and into the city. Both Triappa and Breshan were high in the sky, casting soft light onto the road ahead. He felt a momentary pang when he passed the turnoff to the Red Coach Inn. Guilt and shame. He gave the horse a loose rein now, letting it walk easily, cooling off. He knew it would head back home without any guidance.

Once there, Kirrin climbed down and took care of the horse, making sure it was thoroughly brushed and rubbed down even though the solid-looking beast was no worse for its trip. On his way out, he also tucked a silver coin into the saddlebag as a small token of appreciation for the loan.

After spending more time in the saddle than he was used to, it felt good to walk and stretch his legs. Daytime traffic had settled down for the night, but he could still hear the buzz of the city, the night sounds. Some fighting off in the distance, a man and a woman shouting back and forth at each other. Music carried across the square. The tune sounded familiar, and he paused for a moment to listen, but couldn’t quite place it. Standing there, he also noticed cloth draped everywhere, over railings on shutters, from shop signs and lamp posts. Many of the windows had candles burning, as well. He didn’t need the sunlight to tell him they were dark blue.

Those were the da’har’s colors, Syar’zannal of House Zayam. People were in mourning for the old man and those colors would remain everywhere until the investiture of the new da’har. The man had been popular with his people. He was known as a good man, kindly and considerate, if somewhat given to vice. To that, Kirrin could attest, having caught the man in bed with a prostitute, right before he’d killed him.

The thoughts of that night crept back in, despite his efforts to shake the memory. 

He wanted to shed his daytime cloak in favor of the night, anonymous and alluring. He headed back into the dark alleys of the cheaper side of town, where the candles were too pricey to leave out, and the cold night air could wash away his trouble.

Legs stretching, Kirrin ran across the city walls and rooftops, through the back alleys and narrow stairways that wove throughout the city. He felt the cold stone under his fingers as he scaled a wall, finding handholds in the gaps between the stones. Once above the city, he ran along the top of a wall, dropping down ten feet to a lower level, landing with a soft thud, and letting his body roll to absorb the impact. Without coming to a stop, he was on his feet and grappled his way up a drainpipe, swinging off of it onto the upper terrace and towards the harbor. Once he crossed the east terrace, he slowed his pace.

It was late and the more respectable folk had gone back to their homes, but that suited Kirrin. He walked along the docks, the pungent smell of rope and dampness hanging in the air. He had hoped to cross paths with the fanatical preachers, but it seemed quiet since that night of protests that got out of control. He imagined the fanatics would be at it in some new location until they were routed and forced out by the city watch.

“Hey there pretty boy. You looking for some fun? I’ll show you good fun.”

He turned toward the voice. A young girl with a painted face wiggled suggestively, making her yellow dress shimmer as it clung to her curves. “No thanks, not tonight,” he said. Sex wasn’t what he was looking for, and if it was, he knew where he could scratch that itch with much greater satisfaction.

She pouted and pretended to cry, tracing a finger from the corner of her eye down to her chin. Kirrin just shook his head, uninterested in the girl as she was likely riddled with diseases.

Instead, his attention focused on a group of voices from one of the back alleys. He moved toward the sound. An argument was going on and from the slurring of words, most of those involved were clearly drunk.

Running for a half Nibbin hadn’t done much to take the edge off his unresolved emotions. He distractedly shouldered his way past a large brutish man, built like most of the dockworkers, solid muscle, no neck, and a belly that came from too much ale.

A hand grabbed his arm. “Hey! Little doucha, watch where you’re goin’ or sommun like to bruise that pretty face of yours.”

Kirrin paused, shoulders tensing just a little. “Get your hand off of me.” He spoke politely, but with enough edge in his voice to challenge the man.

The brute yanked on Kirrin’s arm. “Or what?” he asked, as Kirrin spun around to face him. But rather than waiting to confront him, Kirrin spun in with full force, his fist extending into the man’s throat, as he stepped in and came down hard on the man’s leg, just above the knee. The man went down like a rock, cursing and in obvious pain.

The other three men jumped forward, prepared for a fight in a way the first man was not. Having seen how quickly their friend had been dropped to the ground, whatever disagreement they were having was put aside.

Kirrin took out the first man to come at him, ramming his fist into the man’s nose, feeling the crunch of breaking bone. The second man circled around, trying to come at Kirrin from behind. Kirrin scooped up a handful of sand, spinning around and tossing it in the man’s face.

“Filthy little doucha!” he screamed, rubbing at his eyes.

Fine, that would give him time to deal with the third man. He turned back, and let the man close in on him, cowered. Then as the man grabbed hold of him, Kirrin jammed his fist into the man’s gut, watching him double over, clutching his belly. Before he could stand up, Kirrin brought his elbow down on the back of his neck, hard, dropping the man. He looked over to the one wiping his face, who looked at Kirrin, then at his friends. The man backed up, hands out, then turned and ran.

Satisfied, Kirrin continued down the alley, scaling a wall and crossing a few roofs. He doubted any of them would be starting unfair fights again. He reminded himself that those men were not Aldon or his thuggish friends. Still, they got what they deserved, he reasoned. They shouldn’t have underestimated him. He stood on top of a roof, looking out over the city, feeling for the moment like he owned it.

Looking up at the Nibbin sinking in the east, Kirrin realized that it was getting late. Climbing down, he made his way along the street above the harbor towards the north terrace. It wasn’t hard to find the address Hak’kar had given. Fourth terrace, 23, north. There was nothing noteworthy about it. A small cottage, the front mostly paved stones, and shrubbery. Low maintenance. Kirrin sucked on his teeth, nodding to himself. A simple stucco, with vines growing on parts of it. It was L-shaped, with the front door tucked back out of sight from the road. The main side was single-story, with a small second story above the L.

In fact, as he surveyed the area he noticed that everything about the place suited him. Just across the road was a narrow alley leading down to the terrace below. At the far end of the street was a large private garden with several expensive townhouses around it. Behind him, not too far, was a plaza with several shops. So, it was discreet, didn’t attract attention, was in a moderately nice area and not too far from shops. Perfect.

He walked up the path and found the key that had been left for him, tucked on a small ledge behind the shutter. A grey cat with white feet startled out of the bush, pausing long enough to stare at Kirrin with feline disdain before sauntering off into the night.

Stepping inside the house, Kirrin almost tripped over the boxes cluttering the entryway. Apparently, Hak’kar’s men only had instructions to help his mother settle in. 

Pushing the nearest box away with his foot, he walked into the house, stepping over the cluttered mess in the hall.

A slight staleness permeated the entire cottage. It didn’t feel like anyone had lived there recently. Looking down, he could tell that the floor had been swept, but whoever had done the cleanup had made a hasty job of it. As for furniture, the living room had the bare basics. A couch, an easy chair by the glass doors that led to the back, a low table in the middle, and an empty bookcase. A portrait of children having a tea party with their toys hung crookedly on the wall. Whoever had lived here before had terrible taste in art. Kirrin walked over and began to straighten the picture. 

Why am I even bothering? He yanked the thing off the wall and tossed it over by the door. Burn pile.

A quick inspection revealed a partially stocked kitchen with a handful of pots and pans and a tin filled with firesticks. Enough for a bachelor to make do, but something about a bare-bones kitchen distressed him. It was nothing like the inn. This room didn’t feel like home. 

He decided he might have to see about setting up a proper kitchen at some point, but for now, he just headed back into the hall, opening doors and drawers as he went.

The house had the usual rooms you’d expect, a dining area, a living room, an office, two bedrooms on the small second floor, and a bathroom with a heated bath. Kirrin’s preference was for a quick shower, but having the bath as an option was a nice touch to an otherwise unimpressive residence. He’d have to see about getting a shower installed.

The first bedroom was empty, but a mattress and frame were stacked against the wall of the second one. Looking back and forth between the rooms, he decided he liked the window looking out to the east, where he could see lights flickering on the water in the harbor. He wasn’t sure if he was going to love the bright morning sun, but decided curtains could fix that. Plus, that would leave the larger of the rooms open so he could have a place to practice his m’retsun.

With that decided, he went back downstairs and spent a while lugging boxes and organizing his things. He didn’t really have much, he realized.

Partially unpacked, Kirrin sat on the edge of his new bed and looked around the bare room. He dropped back, the crisp cotton cool against his bare skin. It would do, he decided, staring at the ceiling. Needs a paint job. Then the thoughts started to trickle in.

What color would mum suggest? Will she ever forgive me? Should I have told her she’s going to be a grandmother? Where was Miral, anyway? He knew he should go find her at some point as well, but felt less worried about her wellbeing. 

While being pregnant with his child was probably distressing, she was with family and being taken care of, and her family wanted her far away from Kirrin. That was made clear when they sent her to live with relatives. 

Part of him didn’t like the idea of his baby growing up without a father. How different would his life have been if he had a real father? 

It didn’t feel real. Maybe Miral was wrong or lying. 

Part of him didn’t believe his own lie. Miral’s family had sent her away. Away from him. He was going to be a father. What would his mother say? He didn’t think it was a good time to drop this on her. Maybe I can tell her after she’s had some time to settle in?

His mind raced. Even after the long day, his body and mind refused to settle down. Growling in frustration, Kirrin heaved himself off of his bed and went out for a midnight run. Only this run had a destination. Even though his legs were tired from his earlier workout, he dug in and found an easy stride. 

Before long, he cut across a wide street, and down an alley. Bouncing off the far wall he launched himself across the alley and onto a low roof, then ran along the ridgeline until it connected to a larger building. Up a drainpipe across another roof and down onto a wall. He ran along the top of the wall until it came to a dead-end next to a three-floor stone building.

He whistled low and waited. Before long a head popped out the window. “You again? What is wrong with the door, anyway?”

Kirrin blinked, surprised for a moment. “Oh, Lilly? Is that you?”

“Yes, it’s me.”

“Where’s Fern?”

“She’s right-”

“Here.” A second head popped out the window, shoving Lilly aside. “Move over so he can get in.”

A moment later, he was standing in the room, soft light and rose-colored silks draped all over the place. It smelled like- “Lemongrass and orange blossom. That’s new.”

Fern smiled. “Do you like it?”

Kirrin sniffed and nodded. “I guess so.” He didn’t really have an opinion on it, only that he noticed the change, and the smell was refreshing.

“I gave that to her,” Lilly said, grinning broadly as she took credit for the new aroma.

Fern rolled her eyes. “Goodnight Lilly,” Fern said, pointedly, shoving her housemate towards the door.

“Okay, I’m going,” Lilly said, drawing out her words and winking toward Kirrin. “Let me know if you ever want to share him though.”

Fern grunted in mock-disgust. “Don’t you have a client still?”

“Yes,” she chuckled, “But I wore him out and he’s sound asleep.”

“Just go!” Fern laughed. “Go bother one of the other girls.”

“Okay okay. I’m going. But if you want extra company…” She gave Kirrin another wink. “I wouldn’t even charge you,” she hollered, stretching her neck around the door, as Fern pushed her out, closing the door behind her.

Then she turned back to Kirrin. “You look horrible.”

“Good to see you, too.”

“No, really. You look like you’ve been in a fight, even in this light.” She leaned in closer, examining his face with concern. She squinted in the candlelight, trying to see how bad his bruises were.

“Actually, yeah. I did get into a fight.”

“Why?”

Kirrin shrugged, not really having a good answer to her question. But mostly, he just didn’t want to talk about it.

She reached out to touch the fresh bruise on his right temple. He winced when she poked at the sore spot he hadn’t noticed yet. Fern crossed the room to the table against the wall where she kept a few bottles of wine, a decanter of brandy, and a bottle of whiskey. “Wine or brandy?”

“Brandy.”

She also picked up a small plate with cheese and fruit on it.

“Do you always have provisions on hand?”

“Well, I do get hungry, you know. But I was expecting a client who had to cancel. So, lucky you. Except you don’t look like, well…”

In response, Kirrin tossed back the brandy, slammed the glass down with a thunk, the crossed the room and grabbed Fern by the waist, tossing her backwards onto the bed, tickling her until their wrestling match became more physical, and then culminated in their usual tumble in the blankets, with the occasional wincing when he forgot about a bruise.

“Feeling better now?” she asked, propped up on her elbow, watching Kirrin, curiously.

“What? I’m fine.”

“Want to try again?” she asked, her tone dry, and was that a hint of annoyance, or was it frustration in her voice?

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I do this for a living, remember? If there’s one thing I am good at, it’s reading men.” She reached across Kirrin’s prone body to the nightstand, getting hold of a bottle of water which she drained.

“Don’t get me wrong, no complaints. But something feels different tonight. Anything to do with those bruises?” She reached across him again, picking up a bowl of pomegranate wedges, offering Kirrin some, as well. Someone had gone to a bit of trouble to cut the fruit up without making a mess of the seeds.

Devouring the pomegranate, he settled back on the pillows, and tugged on Fern’s arm, pulling her close. He told her about what had happened with his mother. Kirrin heard his own words tumbling out, about a lord who was unstable, his mother who was a hostage against good behavior, and Kirrin being the one who had to get his hands dirty. She listened attentively, nodding occasionally as he spoke until he talked himself out. He turned his head to look at her, trying to see if she was judging him.

“Here, have a pomegranate,” she said, as though it was the most normal reaction to have. He burst out laughing, taking the fruit from her hand. Then he pulled her close and just laid there, feeling her steady heartbeat next to him. The two of them laid like that, listening to the sounds of the city until Kirrin fell asleep.

Blinding sunlight streaked across the room, causing Kirrin to throw an arm across his face, trying to block it out. After a moment, he squinted, trying to adjust to the glaring bright daylight. Fern stood in the window, pulling back the curtains and trying them back and then opened the window, letting in fresh air.

Kirrin groaned, making her laugh. “How ya feelin there, soldier boy?”

In response, Kirrin threw the pillow at her and then swung a leg over the side of the bed.

“You need a shower,” she said.

Kirrin ran a hand through his hair and rolled his shoulder, testing it for soreness. “Not too bad,” he said. “And nothing that really shows.” He knew Hak’kar’s distaste for anything blemished. “But yes, a shower would be good. I need to head out to the estate.”

“But not just yet,” Fern teased, walking back over to Kirrin and pushing him backwards onto the pillows.

It was well after midday by the time Kirrin climbed back out the window.

He stopped at his cottage for a change of clothes and a few extras stuffed into his pack. After making a quick stop at the local knife smith behind his house, he headed back to borrow the horse again. After the last few days, he had no desire to make the long walk out to the estate.

Halfway out, the clouds opened up into a downpour, making both Kirrin and the horse miserable. He put his heels to the beast, who put its ears back in protest as Kirrin insisted it go further away from its dry stall.

By the time he reached the estate, they were both drenched. Kirrin led the horse into the barn and rubbed it down until it was dry, putting lineament on its legs and back and bedding it down with fresh hay. The horse’s mood improved considerably with food and water. Kirrin grunted, knowing the horse was in a luxurious barn compared to its own home.

He looked out the barn doors, waiting for a break in the rain. Finally, he gave up and made a run for it, a quick sprint across the back of the estate to the room he used when he stayed on the grounds. Walking into the small bunk room, he did a quick scan even though it had been a long time since Kip and Duffy had meddled with his things. A small single bed, with blankets and pillow folded at the foot, wooden desk and chair against the opposite wall, and a dresser in the corner. He pulled the towel from the peg behind his door and began to dry himself off with one hand while he pulled his clothes out of his pack with the other. Seeing that they were mostly dry, except for the shirt on top, he tossed them into the drawer, throwing the soggy one over the back of the desk chair.

He leafed through one of his books on myths and legends of ancient Chanmyr for a while. The stories had been interesting when he was a kid. As an adult, he read them mostly because he knew Hak’kar was obsessed with them. The land will be broken. Maybe Hak’kar interpreted that to mean war. Does that man really think all this is going to come true? Regardless, Kirrin had won a lot of favor with the man simply by listening and offering insights that catered to his fascination with mythology.

After a while, the sound of rain against the roof subsided, and he tossed the book down, heading for the main house. Once inside, he ignored the disdainful sniff of a servant girl and headed towards the official wing. Esh’ral’s door was partway open and he knocked tentatively, leaning forward to see if the man was at his desk. He was. The steward looked up and sniffed, but then relented, waving Kirrin inside.

“I have the ledger,” Kirrin said, fishing in his pack while the man waited. How was it possible to look bored and impatient at the same time? “There were no difficulties,” he reported, making sure the man was clear on that fact. “None.”

Esh’ral nodded, taking the ledger and placing it to the side. After several similar instances, Kirrin didn’t wait for instructions or a formal dismissal. He stepped backward quietly, turned, and left.

Outside, he headed towards the small building that was a prep house for the major cooking and kept the large chimneys and ovens away from the residence. A young boy dashed out the kitchen door, barely missing Kirrin.

“Watch where you’re going, boy!” Cook bellowed and then nodded, recognizing Kirrin.

“New boy?” Kirrin asked, nodding over his shoulder.

Cook slammed down his cleaver, splitting an onion in half. The decisive thud of the knife told Kirrin what the cook thought of his helper. It hadn’t been all that long since Kirrin was that boy, caught trespassing and forced to work in the kitchens as punishment, while also being taught to fight by Kip and Duffy, Hak’kar’s muscle men on the estate.

“I got you a present,” he said, pulling out a brand new chef’s knife with a bone handle shaped for optimal grip.

Cook’s initial surliness transformed as he hefted the knife, examining the superior craftsmanship. Frowning thoughtfully, he tested it out on the parsnips in front of him and nodded his approval.

“‘At’s a right nice knife,” he said.

“I thought you’d like it. I saw it when I was looking for a new utility knife since mine doesn’t keep an edge anymore.”

He stood there, watching Cook test out the knife, feeling awkward. Part of him felt an urge to sweep up or help out, but that wasn’t his job anymore. “Mind if I grab something to eat?”

In response, Cook just nodded toward the pantry, where Kirrin found a chunk of ham with a generous amount of meat on the bone. Nearby was a wedge of aged cheese that he cut a slab from, slapping the two together for a snack.

He thought about chatting with the housemaids, but never really cared for any of them. Most girls, even Miral, weren’t worth the effort and trouble it took to keep them happy. Instead, he headed back out to the training area where he went through some of the routines Ch’hikk had taught him. It felt strange doing them without Miral lurking nearby, but he found his concentration was better without the distraction.

Not long after dinner, one of the house girls came out with a summons for Kirrin. Stopping long enough to change his clothes and make sure his hair covered the bruise on his temple, he headed through the side door that led to the hall by Hak’kar’s private study.